


begin again

by BuddysImpala



Category: Dark is the Night (book series)
Genre: A Hymm in the Silence, A Light Amongst Shadows, Angst, Angst and Fluff, BUT GETS BETTER EVENTUALLY I SWEAR, Dark, Dark is the Night, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, I named his uncle Richard because ya know what they call men named Richard, James Spencer - Freeform, JamesxWilliam doesn’t happen until later but it happens I promise, M/M, TRIGGER WARNING for nongraphic but frequent hintings at rape, William Esher - Freeform, this was HEAVILY inspired by James’ backstory revealed in Book 1, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddysImpala/pseuds/BuddysImpala
Summary: William doesn’t know it at first, but he saved James right when James needed saving the most.
Relationships: James Spencer/William Esher
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	begin again

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for non graphic, but frequent mentions of rape
> 
> If I recall correctly, we never actually learn the names of James’ family members so each name is made up, but based off of people in the books. (Except maybe his cousins, I forget exactly how many it says he has). 
> 
> I chose his uncle’s name because ya know what they call men named Richard

James was just shy of sixteen when his uncle moved in. His mother and father welcomed his uncle and his cousins with open arms and sympathetic hearts, as James’ aunt Margaret had just passed away. James went from being an only child, with his house and parents all to himself, to living with four cousins, all of them female. The oldest, Ruth, was twelve. Little Sophie was just three.

It was but two days after James’ birthday when his uncle touched him for the first time.

Nobody in the house had locks on their doors, there was no need for them. James hadn’t even heard anybody come in until he was stirred half-awake by the dip in his mattress. Somebody was sitting on his bed. Distantly, he smelt rum and tobacco.

“Uncle Richard?” James whispered in the dark. “What are you—“

He gasped when he felt the hand dip underneath his nightshirt. He froze, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

“If ya tell anyone,” his uncle whispered as he squeezed, breath reeking of alcohol, “I’ll kill ya.”

***

He had just turned seventeen when he finally caved and told his parents. Richard had had his way with him for a year, coming to him every night, threatening to kill him or to rape each one of his cousins (“and make you watch”) if he told anyone. For a year, James suffered in silence, biting his tongue during the day and silently crying during the night until his door opened. Richard hit him if he was caught crying — if he had bruises in the morning, he would tell his parents he’d fallen out of bed. 

He couldn’t let Richard near his cousins. He wouldn’t.

But, finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. The night before, Richard had left him bleeding below his waist, and he had fingerprints bruised into his throat. There was no way he could sleep on his back. Sleeping on his stomach, with his backside exposed, left him terrified and vulnerable. He cried so much, he’d soaked his pillow through.

The next morning, there were dark circles under his eyes. The collar of his nightshirt was turned up, hiding the dark bruises as much as possible. His skin was pale as death and his eyes burned from the amount of tears he’d let loose until dawn. 

His mother and father sat in the kitchen. They were discussing something in low voices, but his mother gasped when she saw him. “James, darling! What ever is the matter?”

Uncle Richard was nowhere to be seen. 

“M-Mother? Father? May I... speak with you?”

He sat down with them and, through tears and trembling breaths, told them everything, starting with that night a year ago. He pitched forward, elbows on the table, and cried helplessly into his hands. He thought, surely, they would believe him. Surely, they would banish Uncle Richard from the home, take in his girls to protect them from harm, and forget any of this had ever happened.

Life, as it seemed, did not work that way.

When he finally mustered up the courage to remove his hands from his face, his mother and father were staring at each other. His mother was pale while his father’s face darkened fiery red.

“How  _dare_ you accuse my brother of such a vile act,” James’ father spat at him.

James’ lips parted as his mouth fell open. His hands trembled, and his lower lip quivered like a child’s as he fought to keep back another onslaught of tears. “Father, I’m not—“

The sound of his father’s slap against his cheek resounded in the otherwise quiet kitchen. James cried out, hand flying up to his face.

“I will not be made a fool of!” his father screamed.

James looked to his mother for help, but she only stared back at him in sad, unbelieving pity.

Trembling, James got up. His legs nearly gave out from under him as he made his way to his room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t make it to his bed, the place where Richard had raped him so many times. Instead, he crumbled to the floor, curling into a ball by drawing his knees to his chest. He bit down on his fist to keep from screaming.

Later, when Richard emerged from his bedroom, James could overhear his parents describing their son’s accusations against him. He heard someone — his father, probably — describe James’ “tale” as “ridiculous” and “unbelievable.”

No action, it seemed, would be taken.

When Richard raped him that night, he took hold of James’ throat, crushing his windpipe until he was blue in the face and begging for air. Richard smacked him for crying and then growled in his ear, promising to “get his axe and chop him up” if he tried a stunt like that again.

The next night, before Richard came for him, James set fire to the house with everybody asleep inside.

***

It was decided that James would be sent to Whisperwood, a boarding school for “troubled boys.” Everyone had made it unharmed out of the fire, but his father and his uncle were concerned that if he “acted up” again, they wouldn’t be as lucky the second time around.

James flourished at Whisperwood. He passed most of his classes with little issue and made several friends. One boy in particular, William Esher, caught his attention above everyone else. Throughout the year, between dodging angry spirits and tracking down missing schoolboys, James and William grew impossibly close. Reciting ridiculous poems in the schoolyard became sneaking into each other’s rooms at night and sneaking kisses in empty hallways.

When James caved and finally told William about his home life, William held him as he cried. That night — opening up to William, confessing everything that his uncle ever did to him — was the first night James cried since the night before he set his home aflame. William wiped his tears with a handkerchief and stroked his hair, murmuring to James about how brave he was. 

James didn’t believe any of it, but he was certain that that night was the night he fell in love with William Esher.

***

Home, to James, was destroyed the night his uncle moved in. For over two years, he had no home. Whisperwood hardly counted — he may have had his meals there and slept there, but home was not a place where his friends were tormented and killed. 

Home, to James, became a little cottage in the countryside. Home, to James, became William himself. Home became a place that they could scarcely afford to keep sometimes, but it didn’t matter because they were figuring things out together. 

Home became a place of comfort, warmth, and solitude.

Home became a place where he could sleep safely on his stomach, secure in the knowledge that the man who slept curled in his arms would never so much as touch a hair on his head if it brought him harm. 

Home became slipping into William, soft and sweet and hot as facula, secure in the knowledge that they could go as long and slow as they pleased without anybody bursting in on them. James would never again be forced to submit to a man that would scream at him, choke him, or fuck him until he bled. Instead, William clutched at him, blunted nails digging into his back, toes curling as he climaxed and murmured to James how much he loved him.

William, darling William, who gently awoke and comforted him whenever he had nightmares of his uncle. They were rarer now, mostly taken over by dreams of his friends and William who loved him, but William was there whenever they came back. When his eyes snapped open, his uncle’s face was replaced by William’s, who leaned over him with all the utmost concern and love in the world. Like now, as James gently took William’s face in his hands and brushed their lips together.

“How did I ever get to be so lucky?” James mumbled, still half asleep, but now smiling. He brought William, though blind as a bat without his glasses, in for another kiss and sighed as their lips parted. “Thank you, William.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For rescuing me while I was drowning.”

**Author's Note:**

> I... know this was intense. 😅 If you made it this far, comment if you wanna!


End file.
